"To the question of each hour as it comes. What, for instance, is the right way to act to Alec Trenholme?"
When she came to his name for some reason she left her standing-place, and they were now walking on side by side.
"Well, Sophia, you bring an instance, and you say, 'put it practically.' I will do so. This village is badly in need of such a tradesman. Even the hotel, and other houses that can afford it, grumble at having to obtain their supplies by rail, and we are badly enough served, as you know. I have no idea that this young man has any notion of settling here, but, suppose he did" (Captain Rexford said his last words as if they capped a climax), "you will see at a glance that in that case any recognition of equality such as you seem to be proposing, would be impossible. It would be mere confusion."
"And why should he not settle here? Are we, a Christian community, unable to devise a way of treating him and his brother that would neither hurt their feelings nor our welfare, that would be equally consonant with our duty to God and our own dignity? Or must he go, because our dignity is such a fragile thing that it would need to be supported by actions that we could not offer to God?"
"You know, my dear, if you will excuse my saying so, I think you are pushing this point a little too far. If it were possible to live up to such a high ideal—"
"I would rather die to-night than think that it was impossible."
"My dear" (he was manifestly annoyed now), "you really express yourself too strongly."
"But what use would it be to live?" She was going on but she stopped.
What use was it to talk? None.
She let the subject pass and they conversed on other things.
She felt strange loneliness. "Am I, in truth, fantastical?" she sighed, "or, if Heaven is witness to the sober truth of that which I conceive, am I so weak as to need other sympathy?" This was the tenor, not the words, of her thought. Yet all the way home, as they talked and walked through the glowing autumn land, her heart was aching.